


Do You Know Love?

by taormina



Category: Take That (Band)
Genre: Fluff, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Mark is the most understanding boyfriend to have ever lived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:52:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7538740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taormina/pseuds/taormina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On their first ever date, Mark and Gary have very different ideas about how (and where) they’d like the night to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Know Love?

Three surprising things happened that evening. One: Mark asked Gary out on a date. Two: it happened via text, which made Gary think that Mark’s vague selection of emojis – an aubergine and an excessive amount of hearts – heralded a romantic visit to some vegetarian restaurant without aircon. Three: The text contained only one exclamation mark rather than the usual five. Four: Gary actually said yes:

_Sure mate love to x_ , he replied, followed by the easy to misinterpret ‘splashing sweat’ emoji. You can already see where this is going.

Frankly, Gary hadn’t been on a lot of dates since the band got back together. Life and music always managed to get in the way of a good old-fashioned dinner one way or another, and whenever he _did_ manage to clear his schedule and get through the night uninterrupted he usually didn’t invite his dates back home. He’d merely have dinner with this man or woman, _may—be_ do some snogging in the back of a taxi cab (Gary loved snogging — _loved_ it) and then head back home. He never really desired the other thing. And why should he? He always had to get up early the next morning anyway.

Imagine that, having to go to the BBC Radio 1 Breakfast Show at eight and also having to take care of some disoriented, hungover one-night-stand in your bed. It just wasn’t going to work out. These things never did.

But with Mark, things were a little different. Gary had always been attracted to his colleague creatively and romantically, and he had long entertained the idea of going on dates with him. They’d have dinner at six, go to a show on the West End at nine (Aladdin sounded good) and do some cuddling after. Then they’d go to bed together and do the whole thing all over again until they both felt so comfortable and in-sync that they no longer needed to depend on dodgy text messages and DMs to tell each other how they felt. It’d be _perfect_.

Gary’s future lover, however, had different ideas. Mark had asked Gary out fully expecting that it would lead to amazing, first-date sex on their sofas, and so when Mark knocked on Gary’s door at a quarter to six the next day he did so with a pocket full of condoms and a brand new haircut. This night would absolutely end with him getting laid.

Mark managed to knock twice before Gary opened the door and was welcomed by a sight infinitely more beautiful than he thought he deserved: his crush on his doorstep, dressed in a tight black suit he’d no doubt kept from the _Kingsman_ premiere. Wearing – _God_ – no tie or scarf at all. The first button of his shirt had been undone, and Gary even thought he could see the faint promise of Mark’s chesthair.

He looked absolutely stunning. So stunning. He’d gone through all that trouble for him. _Him_. What a marvellous thought.

Mark caught Gary staring at his outfit and looked at himself a little uncertainly. In comparison, Gary had opted for his favourite ‘all-black t-shirt and trousers look’; a selection of clothes that Mark loved because of how extremely fuckable it made Gary’s chest and arms look. What Mark didn’t know was that Gary mostly dressed like that because no one would be able to tell if he’d had a cheeky Mars bar the night before, not because it made him eligible for Heat Magazine’s _Best Body In Pop Award_.

‘I don’t look too dressed-up, do I? I wasn’t really sure where you were taking us. Vegetarian restaurant, wasn’t it?’

‘No, no, it’s fine. It’s good. You look good, mate,’ Gary mumbled before confirming that they were indeed eating vegetarian today, and he just about managed to grab a formal jacket from a clothes peg without falling over and embarrassing himself. After making sure that he had everything he needed, he closed the door behind him and locked it. ‘Shall we? I was thinkin’ we could just walk there.’

Mark quickly fell into step with Gary. Quietly they walked the green, leaf-covered pavements of London without once being spotted, and soon they eased into a pleasant, casual conversation about their upcoming album that the general public had no idea even existed. The tunes were top-notch and, Mark and Gary agreed, the best work they’d done thus far. Even the critics would have to agree that the lead single – the slow love child of _Night Fever_ and _Hey Boy_ – was unlike anything they’d ever done.

The conversation gradually led to a discussion about how the boys might perform their new songs on tour, and Gary felt an odd, pleasant feeling of contentment as he listened to Mark enumerate every single idea he had stored in his mind. He wanted to do something worthy of a set at Glastonbury: flags, explosions, lasers, fireworks, the whole lot. Even a live roller disco was mentioned at some point, but Mark quickly scrapped the idea when he remembered they’d more or less already done that.

Ultimately, this is what Gary liked about Mark most: his enthusiasm. His ideas. His rare, wonderful ability to make Gary feel more at ease than anyone else in the world. Gary was able to talk to Mark about songs and music and the lives that inspired it without ever feeling judged or criticised. He was able to write music with Mark without inhibition, without fear for the words he was putting notes and melodies to.

Perhaps, one day soon, he’d be able to wake up next to Mark and do just that. Every day. Every night.

Maybe tonight would be the start of that future.

‘What’d you think of the album cover, then?’ Mark asked Gary after a while. They had reached a busy side street by now, but everyone was so busy minding their own business that two celebrities on a date hardly caught their attention. Finally, it appeared as though the boys would be able to get somewhere without being accosted by curious fans and supporters.

‘It’s good, yeah,’ said Gary. He caught Mark’s eye, then went a little red and dropped his gaze. On the cover, Mark was wearing a very sexy outfit indeed. ‘It’ll stand out, it will. Turn right here.’

Mark did so, and it was as though he’d entered a brand new world: pleasant, mouth-watering wafts of cooking aromas hit his nose and made his eyes water, and all around him tourists and Londoners speed-walked to join outdoor restaurant queues akin to those at Take That concerts. Some of them had already been handed menu cards by waiters to speed up the process. Others were eyeing up the people in the next-door McDonalds restaurant enviously. There, the queue was twice as short.

Mark had been so busy thinking about what he’d do to Gary tonight (blowjob, then reverse cowboy on the sofa) that he hardly noticed their descent into this aromatic, hidden-away food Valhalla. Everywhere he looked, he saw keen waiters, menus, colourful signposts and appetising illustrations of starters and main courses on restaurant windows. It was heaven tucked away into a street he’d never even been to. Even the fast-food chains looked appealing for once.

It was only when Mark saw the sign of a vegetarian restaurant that he realised that he was definitely, unquestioningly on a date with Gary Barlow, and he planted a great big kiss on his lover’s cheek as though he couldn’t quite help himself. This was happening. _God_ , it really was. All this pining and crushing and kissing in dressing rooms in the O2 Arena, and they were finally, _finally_ ready to take things to the next level.

‘I can’t wait for tonight, Gaz. Can’t fucking _wait_ ,’ he told Gary, who was so preoccupied with gently shepherding Mark into his chosen restaurant and proving that he had, indeed, reserved a table that the suggestiveness of Mark’s remark completely went over his head. Gary could only respond with a smile and a blush.

Two minutes later the boys were given a spot next to the open kitchen. According to the waiter who handed them their menu cards it was the best spot in the house; one that was usually reserved for ‘happy couples and lovers’, as he put it. It was the first time someone had ever referred to Mark and Gary as an official couple, and soon the boys’ nervous, blushing faces were hidden behind their menus. This was going better than they thought!

Choosing a meal wasn’t easy. Every time Gary thought he’d finally decided on what to have he saw another delicious meal leave the kitchen in front of him. How on Earth was he supposed to choose between the halloumi with griddled vegetables, asparagus sushi, houmous, kidney bean curry, pointed cabbage, and red lentil and carrot soup? Picking the lead single from their eighth album had been easier than this!

In the end, Gary went for ravioli with courgette flowers and ricotta. (No cheese.) Mark settled for a light Thai green curry, and once the waiter had taken their orders and returned their menu cards, the boys had no choice but to look at each other again.

Usually, Gary’s expression was perfectly mirrored on Mark’s face. In Mark’s blue eyes, Gary often saw excitement; on Gary’s lips, Mark saw the questions he wanted to ask. But tonight, there was none of that familiar similarity. Whereas Gary’s eyes were nervous but content tonight, Mark’s had clouded over with something far darker; anticipation, perhaps. Fear. But for what, Gary had no idea. All he knew was that he was really looking forward to his ravioli.

The rest of dinner proceeded very much as expected: the food arrived, and it was delicious. Some innocent, accidental touching occurred when Mark and Gary reached for the cruet set at the same time. Impromptu song ideas were shared. Gary’s glass of wine almost toppled over when Mark kissed him on the mouth. Mark tried rubbing his foot against Gary’s leg underneath the table, then stopped when an extremely flushed Gary claimed that everyone in the restaurant could see. (They could _not_.) Desserts in the shape of chocolate, peanut butter and avocado pudding arrived, and the condoms in Mark’s pockets felt heavier than ever. He wanted to leave, and soon. _Soon_.

Mark quickly got his wish. At half past eight, Gary finished the last of his wine and politely asked the waiter for the cheque. It was bound to be extraordinarily expensive, but Gary hardly cared. He’d had a great time, and so had his date.

‘So what’s next, then?’ said Mark, who was already in the process of putting his jacket on. ‘You got tickets for a show we can go to or somethin’?’

‘Erm, I was thinking about going back to mine, actually,’ Gary stuttered, and Mark wrongly interpreted it as pre-sex nerves and smiled smugly to himself when Gary wasn’t looking. ‘I’ve – I’ve something I’d like to show you. If you don’t mind, that is.’

The waiter returned to their table just in time to stop Mark from saying extremely sexual. Two minutes later the bill was paid, and off the boys went; back to Gary’s. Back to a complete and utter misunderstanding that they’d never seen coming because who on Earth thinks about these things when they make plans for a date?

Neither of them really knew how the misunderstanding ever came to be. The only thing they did know was that they strolled back to Gary’s in a happy, satisfied daze with the smell of well-cooked food still lingering on their skins and fragments of their chat still echoing in their ears. They both knew that tonight had been a total success. It was short, sweet and honest, and everything they ever wanted it to be.

Only one of them was already thinking one step ahead.

As usual, the return trip felt quicker. Gary’s door was unlocked, and shoes were taken off. Jackets were carefully draped over clothes hangers in cupboards. Slowly Mark and Gary made their way to the living room, and Mark couldn’t help but notice how ungainly Gary looked when he walked. Must be those nerves of his. Bless.

‘You want somethin’?’ Gary asked, with a nod at his drinks cabinet. He knew Mark didn’t usually drink, but sometimes he made an exception for special occasions like family dinners and dates. Mark’s days of drunkenly losing his Brit Award in the middle of the night were long gone, and it was for the better; Mark wanted to fuck Gary completely sober. The better for remembering.

‘Am fine, thanks.’

‘D’you mind if I have one?’

Mark shrugged and familiarly seated himself on the sofa. When Gary wasn’t looking, he quickly but discreetly rearranged some of the cushions so they’d be more comfortable later.

‘You said you had something to show me, Gaz?’

Gary started. Another flush was making its way onto his cheeks, and it had very little to do with the amount of wine he’d already had. ‘Um. Oh, yeah. I did, didn’t I?’ He looked over to where Mark was sat, then pointed a finger at the sofa before closing the small, rectangular doors of the drinks cabinet. ‘Could you get me that laptop?’

Mark looked around him and found Gary’s expensive laptop precariously placed on the armrest to his left. He took it, and saw when he handed it over that Gary was absolutely trembling with nerves. It was quite adorable, really. Clearly Gary knew what would be happening next as well as Mark did. He even looked nervous sitting down.   

Gary struggled to open the thin silver laptop for a bit, then proceeded to clumsily type in his password. As he did so, tiny beads of sweat were starting to form on his forehead as if he was either feeling quite hot or pretending to be a professional computer hacker in some futuristic drama.

Gary didn’t usually share new songs so soon unless they were backing tracks for future top 40 hits, but this song he wrote and recorded last week was something else. The idea came to him after a couple proposed to each other in the middle of a heartfelt performance of _A Million Love Songs_ , and the song encapsulated everything that was right with him and Mark. He finished it while in the car to Elstree Studios and was now convinced that Mark would absolutely love it when he heard it. The song _was_ their relationship.

‘I wish I could remember where I put it,’ said Gary, more to the laptop than to Mark. ‘The track was right here. Real beauty, it was . . .’ Perhaps if he mentioned what he was looking for often enough, he’d find it.

Gary moved his mouse to the search window. He clicked. He ran his fingers over the keyboard so quickly that the laptop almost keeled over and fell on the carpet, and Mark suddenly got so worried that their night would be ruined by a damaged laptop that he subtly took the thing from Gary’s fingers, closed it and put it back where he found it. There would be no more distractions tonight.

Whatever Gary wanted to show Mark could wait. What Mark was planning to do his lover could not.

‘Let’s do this later, Mr. Barlow,’ Mark purred. He cast one more look at Gary’s laptop to make sure it wouldn’t fall over, then placed one hand on Gary’s thigh and squeezed. God, he felt firm there. ‘I don’t want to watch you playing with your laptop right now. I wanna do somethin’ a bit more excitin’.’

Gary blinked. Since when were his tracks not exciting? Had he done something to —

Was the last track he’d played for Mark not good enough?  

‘But I . . .’

Gary sounded hurt, but Mark didn’t catch it. He was too horny to.

‘ _Shh_. No more talking,’ an increasingly aroused-sounding Mark whispered, and he did something Gary hadn’t counted on that night: Mark kissed him on his neck. Right where it tingled. Right where the line between excitement and danger was blurred.

Slowly but surely, Mark’s hand moved up Gary’s leg. A mouth sucked the skin below his ear.

Gary’s mind short-circuited.

One hand made a quick, experienced attempt to unbuckle Gary’s belt while another slipped underneath the hem of his shirt and marked the songwriter’s flat, perfect stomach. This is where Mark had always wanted to touch him; his belly, his _skin_. He wanted to feel the soft hair on Gary’s abdomen until they turned into a happy trail and a happy trail turned into something else and Mark was finally, finally able to give what he thought Gary needed.

Mark moaned deeper into the kiss. Suddenly he was on top of Gary. Moving his hips. He was already rubbing his crotch against Gary’s while his lover’s hands were on his chest, keeping him steady and, and —

_Pushing him away_.

Gary was pushing him away.

Mark’s eyes snapped open, and he saw that Gary was not looking at him with excitement, but with fear. His pupils had dilated for all the wrong reasons. His lips were parted in a silent cry for help, and his body — God, it was trembling. _Trembling_ , but not because he was enjoying it.

Not a single part of Gary was enjoying this.

‘Gaz?’

‘Mark, mate, p-please . . .’ Gary sounded scared. So scared that his voice shook along with his body. ‘Mark . . .’

Mark didn’t know what to say. He’d never been turned down before. These things didn’t happen to him, not ever.

Again with the pushing hands.

‘Mark, _please_.’

For the first time that evening, there was a synchronicity in their actions. Gary sounded desperate, and so did Mark.

But not for the same reasons. Mark still wanted this. ‘Gary, if you want me to . . .’

No, Gary didn’t want him to.

‘Mark, p-please get off of me.’ Gary said it in a thin, level voice, and the only things Mark could do was slid off his lover’s lap, eyes wide.

They were not going to have sex tonight.

For a while – a really, really long while –, the boys didn’t know what to say. They didn’t even know how to _act_. All they knew was that their wires had been crossed. Tonight, they’d taken two entirely different paths: one path, Gary’s, to the reveal of a brand new song that he’d saved and tucked away on his laptop. Mark’s, the dirtier, sinful path to sex.

Gary didn’t want to tread on the latter.

‘What’s wrong, Gaz? I thought . . . I _. . ._ I thought you’d been _waiting_ for this.’

Not knowing what to do with his hands, Mark grabbed a pillow from Gary’s sofa and held it to his body tightly. It made him look small and lost, like a child that was scared and oh so confused. Was this not what they both desired?

‘I do. I don’t. Christ,’ Gary exclaimed. He ran his hands through his hair in a frustrated manner and cursed under his breath. ‘I don’t know, Mark. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t,’ he reiterated with more certainty.  

Mark swallowed. In the 90s, it was hard to find anyone who wouldn’t sleep with him. Even on this side of the 21st century, all he had to do was smile right and he’d have anyone he desired eating right out of his hand. It was probably just the whole ‘pop star’ label, but he didn’t care. Perks of the job and all that.

But this was new. ‘Do you mean just today, or — or ever?’

Gary gave a short nod of his head. ‘Yeah.’

‘You mean, _ever_?’

Another nod.

‘It’s . . . it’s not _me_ , is it?’ Mark asked Gary, followed by nervous, compulsive nail biting.  

‘Never, Mark.’

‘. . . guys, then?’

Gary let out a sheepish laugh. ‘God, no.’ He was silent for a moment, then went on slowly, calculatedly, ‘You know when you’re performing and there’s this girl in the front row and you’re bloody annoyed cos all she does is take fucking pictures instead of enjoying it? And you think, _God_ , there’s people at home who’d rather be there than you, but then you look at her properly and there’s this smile in her eyes and you realise she’s just there enjoying the whole thing in her own way? That’s how I feel about sex, mate. Always have.’

Mark looked at Gary blankly. ‘You mean you’re . . . into watching? You’d rather . . . watch me . . .’

At this, Mark made a vague gesture with his fist that turned Gary’s ears as pink as Mark’s suits from the last tour. ‘That’s not what I said at all, mate.’

‘You’re being very vague, Gaz, I have to be honest.’

‘It’s . . . it’s like ironing, that’s what it is. I know you love it, but _I_ don’t. It’s just a fucking chore to me, ironing is.’

Mark scrunched up his nose. ‘I thought you enjoyed doing the ironing.’

‘I don’t.’

‘Oh. _Oh_.’

Slowly but surely, the fog was starting to clear. Specific puzzle pieces were slotting into place. Gary always hated it when Mark flirted with him in public. He didn’t appreciate certain touches in certain places. Kissing in taxi cabs was a no-no. But it didn’t stop there. Gary only ever made sexual jokes off-camera, and whenever someone reminded him of his rebellious, sexual boy band past, he’d turn a little red and try to change the subject. It was something he refused to talk about even now.

Mark always assumed that the boys had all had their fair share of sex, drugs and pop and roll in the nineties, but then he thought back to Gary’s behaviour and realised he must not have enjoyed it. Gary visited fans’ hotel rooms, sure, but whenever he came back and talked about his rendezvous with Rob or Howard, the light had gone out in his eyes. That particular spark in his voice was gone.

The other lads would talk about their nights in perfect detail, leaving out not a single word or touch, but Gary never did. It was ungentlemanly to talk about girls behind their backs, he claimed. It was not the right thing to do. But the truth is that he just couldn’t get himself to admit that he hadn’t liked a single second of what had occurred in his bedroom. Mark knew that now.

‘Back in the nineties, when we were . . .’

‘Only did it to fit in,’ said Gary, with unexpected candour. If they were going to have this conversation, he might as well be truthful. ‘I thought, if I do it every day or every week I might start to enjoy it, but I never did. And believe me, I tried. I tried all sorts. Girls, boys, threesomes . . .’ He shook his head as if the memory was something he’d rather forget. ‘Cos the thing was, Mark, I had all these people throwing themselves at me, and all I really wanted at the end of a long night was to get out me keyboard and _write_. That’s what I really enjoyed, not the sex or the girls. I know I should of, but I didn’t. I just didn’t.’

He went on, ‘And it’s just fucking difficult cos everyone around you tells you how much of a shag fest being in a band is, and I’m like, _Hang on, that’s not what I signed up for!_ I just wanna cuddle and write songs, me.’

No matter how well Gary tried explaining his feelings, previous lovers had still left Gary at the first opportunity. They didn’t understand the songwriter’s need and desire to just settle down and cuddle; watch telly together; have a Chinese and snog and snog until the sun went down and they no longer knew what day it was.

For Gary’s exes, the cuddling was never enough. Watching telly was just a sign that the relationship was heading into boring, murky waters. They always wanted more. They wanted the sex and squeezes and toys regardless of what Gary said he needed. In the end, Gary stopped bothering telling his romantic flings how he felt altogether. It was better that way. If they never brought up the subject of sex and if he never allowed the other to take things that far, perhaps he’d never have to talk about it at all.

But Mark was Mark. Mark was everything Gary needed in his own, personal, romantic little way, and they’d simply been through too much together to just let him go.

Mark had to let it go.

‘Well,’ Mark began, followed by a long pause that felt like a quarter of a century to Gary, ‘in that case we’re just gonna have to do more cuddling and writing together. C’mere,’ he said apropos of nothing, and he handed Gary his laptop and rested his head on Gary’s shoulder like their misunderstanding had never even taken place. ‘Show me the thing.’

Gary shot Mark a questioning look. ‘A-are you sure you wouldn’t rather —? I can understand if you don’t . . .’

At this, Mark wrapped his arms around Gary’s body and held him so tight that Gary was sure he’d explode. ‘I’m sure.’

This was it, the sign that everything was still as it should be. Mark accepted Gary as he was because that’s what Mark Owen did; he was kind, understanding and, most of all, completely and utterly in love with Gary. If cuddles and kisses were the only thing he’d get, then so be it. Cuddles and kisses it was.

‘Will I still be able to touch your bum though, Gaz?’

Gary let out a short bark of a laugh. At the same moment he clicked open the file he’d been looking for. ‘Yeah, mate. Yeah, you will.’

‘Then I don’t care what else we do or don’t do,’ Mark said decidedly, followed by a soft, butterfly-evoking kiss on Gary’s perfect lips. ‘As long as I’m with you, I’m happy. I’m happy, Gary.’

Nothing else needed to be said. Gary pressed play, and out of the laptop’s speakers came a brand new love song stripped completely bare of its usual components. It had no production, no piano, no sad guitar twang. All it had was a melody and some of the finest lyrics Gary had ever written, and it was all that it needed.

**Author's Note:**

> I realise I should probably have put 'asexuality' or something similar in the tags, but I didn't want to put anyone off reading this because I know it's a bit of a touchy subject. This fic is just my way of exploring the subject, and I hope it didn't offend anyone. ♥


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